tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22155901453668256772024-03-05T11:44:09.293+01:00Ars Vitae"La belleza salvará al mundo" (Fiódor Dostoyevski)Ars Vitaehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06946559693975781054noreply@blogger.comBlogger597125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2215590145366825677.post-37484983198151356042018-11-10T22:25:00.001+01:002018-11-10T22:25:13.712+01:00Mírame<div style="text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-22IY0bWvE-k/W-dMqPUi5gI/AAAAAAAAHvc/HEYqzb_RZ7g3lsqRJ7eiD4aXGYK1Dk0JACLcBGAs/s1600/il%2Bcelo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="407" data-original-width="644" height="404" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-22IY0bWvE-k/W-dMqPUi5gI/AAAAAAAAHvc/HEYqzb_RZ7g3lsqRJ7eiD4aXGYK1Dk0JACLcBGAs/s640/il%2Bcelo.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<i>Desde ese tiempo diferente al mío</i></div>
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<i>en que de una mirada ven Tus ojos</i></div>
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<i>la semilla la rosa y los despojos</i></div>
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<i>nacercorrerdesembocar al río</i></div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
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<i>mira esta pobre vida desgarrada</i></div>
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<i>entre el ayer el hoy y mil quién sabe</i></div>
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<i>de los que sólo Tú tienes la llave</i></div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
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<i>mírame en esta hora desolada</i></div>
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<i> a tientas sin saber equivocándo-</i></div>
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<i>me en todos los recodos del camino</i></div>
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<i>confundiendo el veneno con el vino </i></div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
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<i>mira qué Noche oscura qué sangrando </i></div>
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<i>mira cómo hacia Ti se elevan juntas</i></div>
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<i>desde mi herida todas las preguntas
</i></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b>Miguel d'Ors</b><br />
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Ars Vitaehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06946559693975781054noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2215590145366825677.post-31523493244468998372018-10-14T12:42:00.001+02:002018-10-14T12:42:32.829+02:00Espuma<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-14dns4dqAVw/W8MdCZtTxcI/AAAAAAAAHvI/qZ-CGfgrA48fga-gjl4yFxHQ_wEQtWaKACLcBGAs/s1600/rompeolas%2Bsanse%252C%2B13.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="498" data-original-width="702" height="454" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-14dns4dqAVw/W8MdCZtTxcI/AAAAAAAAHvI/qZ-CGfgrA48fga-gjl4yFxHQ_wEQtWaKACLcBGAs/s640/rompeolas%2Bsanse%252C%2B13.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Joaquín Sorolla</b>: <i>Rompeolas de san Sebastián</i>, 1913.</td></tr>
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Miro la espuma, su delicadeza</div>
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que es tan distinta a la de la ceniza.</div>
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Como quien mira una sonrisa,</div>
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aquella
por la que da su vida y le es fatiga</div>
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y amparo, miro ahora la modesta</div>
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espuma. Es el momento bronco y bello</div>
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del uso, el roce, el acto de la entrega</div>
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creándola. El dolor encarcelado </div>
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del mar, se salva en fibra tan ligera; </div>
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bajo la quilla, frente al dique, donde </div>
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existe amor surcado, como en tierra </div>
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la flor, nace la espuma. Y es en ella </div>
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donde rompe la muerte, en su madeja </div>
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donde el mar cobra ser, como en la cima </div>
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de su pasión el hombre es hombre, fuera </div>
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de otros negocios: en su leche viva. </div>
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A este pretil, brocal de la materia </div>
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que es manantial, no desembocadura, </div>
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me asomo ahora, cuando la marea </div>
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sube, y allí naufrago, allí me ahogo </div>
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muy silenciosamente, con entera </div>
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aceptación, ileso, renovado </div>
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en las espumas imperecederas.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Claudio Rodríquez</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Joaquín Sorolla</b>: Instantánea, 1906.</td></tr>
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Ars Vitaehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06946559693975781054noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2215590145366825677.post-3616606302738378892018-08-28T20:55:00.002+02:002018-08-28T20:55:29.792+02:00Alma mía<div style="text-align: center;">
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Ars Vitaehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06946559693975781054noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2215590145366825677.post-16899140990676207662018-02-07T12:28:00.002+01:002018-02-22T16:20:15.863+01:00Mientras baja la nieve<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-oI2BY0N8YOc/WnriwCfhuaI/AAAAAAAAHuQ/e38bqKZAKWUrg2bH3-Zij0DVz3JtCpEaACLcBGAs/s1600/Riaza.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="748" data-original-width="822" height="582" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-oI2BY0N8YOc/WnriwCfhuaI/AAAAAAAAHuQ/e38bqKZAKWUrg2bH3-Zij0DVz3JtCpEaACLcBGAs/s640/Riaza.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Riaza, Segovia.</td></tr>
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Ha bajado la nieve, divina criatura, </div>
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el valle a conocer. </div>
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Ha bajado la nieve, mejor que las estrellas. </div>
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¡Mirémosla caer! </div>
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Viene calla-callando, cae y cae a las puertas </div>
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y llama sin llamar. </div>
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Así llega la Virgen, y así llegan los sueños. </div>
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¡Mirémosla llegar! </div>
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<br /></div>
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Ella deshace el nido grande que está en los cielos </div>
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y ella lo hace volar. </div>
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Plumas caen al valle, plumas a la llanada, </div>
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plumas al olivar. </div>
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<br /></div>
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Tal vez rompió, cayendo y cayendo, el mensaje </div>
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de Dios Nuestro Señor. </div>
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Tal vez era su manto, tal vez era su imagen, </div>
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tal vez no más su amor.</div>
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Gabriela Mistral</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Riaza, Segovia.</td></tr>
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Ars Vitaehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06946559693975781054noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2215590145366825677.post-66643926867310578752018-01-28T16:44:00.002+01:002018-01-28T16:44:57.275+01:00Alas de violín<div style="text-align: center;">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-9QpLBB9MU9A/Wm3v1mapEFI/AAAAAAAAHt8/ADsBp2U6DzAmWl43zI9u59PYExrATttbwCLcBGAs/s1600/Jos%25C3%25A9%2BMar%25C3%25ADa%2BTamburini%2BDalmau%25281856-1932%2529..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="705" data-original-width="597" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-9QpLBB9MU9A/Wm3v1mapEFI/AAAAAAAAHt8/ADsBp2U6DzAmWl43zI9u59PYExrATttbwCLcBGAs/s1600/Jos%25C3%25A9%2BMar%25C3%25ADa%2BTamburini%2BDalmau%25281856-1932%2529..jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><b>José María Tamburini Dalmau</b></i> (1856-1932)<br /><br /></td></tr>
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Ars Vitaehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06946559693975781054noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2215590145366825677.post-90457116492342543292017-12-06T13:30:00.001+01:002018-02-22T16:15:00.913+01:00Lux aeterna<div style="text-align: center;">
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Ars Vitaehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06946559693975781054noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2215590145366825677.post-91637804641477362252017-10-28T21:49:00.001+02:002017-10-28T21:50:25.972+02:00Pastos de silencio<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<i>¡Oh, dialecto de mi aldea interior,</i></div>
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<i>dulce hablar de mis campos imaginarios,</i></div>
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<i>jerga ribereña de mi río invisible,</i></div>
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<i>lengua de mi país, de mi patria espiritual!</i></div>
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<i>¡Oh, idioma más querido que el francés,</i></div>
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<i>oh, mi silencio! Yo te hablo y te recito.</i></div>
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<i>Mil veces te canto para deleite de mi alma</i></div>
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<i> y como a órganos triunfales te oigo resonar.</i></div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
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<i>Jean Mogin, Pâtures du silence.</i></div>
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<br />Ars Vitaehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06946559693975781054noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2215590145366825677.post-76721773102290652682017-10-20T21:40:00.000+02:002017-10-20T21:40:22.154+02:00Stay little, stay <div style="text-align: center;">
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Ars Vitaehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06946559693975781054noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2215590145366825677.post-1836896454422341742017-10-18T20:36:00.001+02:002017-10-18T20:36:21.337+02:00On était heureux<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Tu mirada le marcaba el paso al tiempo.</i></div>
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<br />Ars Vitaehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06946559693975781054noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2215590145366825677.post-69435413830165834882017-09-05T22:47:00.000+02:002017-09-05T22:50:23.907+02:00Gene Brown o la fiesta del color<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />Ars Vitaehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06946559693975781054noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2215590145366825677.post-27623269696948696232017-07-23T12:35:00.002+02:002017-07-23T12:38:05.755+02:00Cultivó una rosa blanca<div style="text-align: right;">
De la raíz hasta hoy, </div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
la sangre de tus venas,</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
con aroma colonial.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
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Ars Vitaehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06946559693975781054noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2215590145366825677.post-3057467049087811202017-07-03T21:08:00.000+02:002017-07-03T21:08:07.943+02:00Sem você<div style="text-align: center;">
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Ars Vitaehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06946559693975781054noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2215590145366825677.post-66412936054235783602017-06-15T13:14:00.000+02:002017-06-15T13:14:02.400+02:00Senza fine<div style="text-align: center;">
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Ars Vitaehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06946559693975781054noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2215590145366825677.post-81169120933795495242017-06-03T20:13:00.000+02:002017-06-03T20:14:10.911+02:00Tu m'as promis<div style="text-align: center;">
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Ars Vitaehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06946559693975781054noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2215590145366825677.post-6206177704596403632017-06-01T12:07:00.001+02:002017-06-01T12:07:33.501+02:00Poema de estío<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-NdSE4fQ67cU/WS_nPpKA29I/AAAAAAAAHq0/rSvLEyL2gpEEQ5Q3wkLhf8FjN0-dTxRPgCLcB/s1600/r%25C3%25ADo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="430" data-original-width="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-NdSE4fQ67cU/WS_nPpKA29I/AAAAAAAAHq0/rSvLEyL2gpEEQ5Q3wkLhf8FjN0-dTxRPgCLcB/s1600/r%25C3%25ADo.jpg" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Cantar del agua del río.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Cantar continuo y sonoro,</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>arriba bosque sombrío</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>y abajo arenas de oro.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Cantar…</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>de alondra escondida</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>entre el oscuro pinar.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Cantar…</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>del viento en las ramas</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>floridas del retamar.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Cantar…</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>de abejas ante el repleto</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>tesoro del colmenar.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Cantar…</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>de la joven tahonera</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>que al río viene a lavar.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Y cantar, cantar, cantar</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>de mi alma embriagada</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>y loca
bajo la lumbre solar.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>Juana de Ibarbourou </b>(1892-1979).<br />
</div>
Ars Vitaehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06946559693975781054noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2215590145366825677.post-38735460775281930262017-02-13T22:19:00.002+01:002017-02-13T22:19:34.612+01:00LOVE<div style="text-align: center;">
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Ars Vitaehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06946559693975781054noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2215590145366825677.post-8442435757598181142017-01-30T01:24:00.000+01:002017-01-30T01:24:20.357+01:00My strange little world<div style="text-align: center;">
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Ars Vitaehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06946559693975781054noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2215590145366825677.post-42855111203866711252017-01-09T22:13:00.002+01:002017-01-09T22:13:15.527+01:00Amor postrero más allá de la muerte<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-7riu_rpmEEQ/WHP82E6yNLI/AAAAAAAAHqc/wsCKDd8xhCA4TspB8eCwJc6qdyNqEk1OQCLcB/s1600/%25C3%25B1%25C3%25B1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-7riu_rpmEEQ/WHP82E6yNLI/AAAAAAAAHqc/wsCKDd8xhCA4TspB8eCwJc6qdyNqEk1OQCLcB/s640/%25C3%25B1%25C3%25B1.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /><i> </i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Cerrar podrá mis ojos la postrera </i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>sombra que me llevare el blanco día, </i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>y podrá desatar esta alma mía </i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>hora, a su afán ansioso lisonjera; </i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>mas no de esotra parte en la ribera </i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>dejará la memoria, en donde ardía: </i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>nadar sabe mi llama el agua fría, </i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>yperder el respeto a ley severa. </i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Alma, a quien todo un Dios prisión ha sido, </i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>venas, que humor a tanto fuego han dado, </i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>médulas, que han gloriosamente ardido, </i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>su cuerpo dejará, no su cuidado; </i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>serán ceniza, mas tendrá sentido; </i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>polvo serán, mas polvo enamorado.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>Francisco de Quevedo.</b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b> </b> </div>
Ars Vitaehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06946559693975781054noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2215590145366825677.post-25758078041604315972016-11-19T19:29:00.003+01:002016-11-19T19:29:46.997+01:00Without a song<div style="text-align: center;">
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Ars Vitaehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06946559693975781054noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2215590145366825677.post-4380398032766107272016-11-01T15:30:00.004+01:002016-11-01T15:30:55.310+01:00Je vous parle d'un temps<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />Ars Vitaehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06946559693975781054noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2215590145366825677.post-64840196880454587312016-10-15T16:34:00.003+02:002016-10-15T16:34:39.553+02:00Nada te turbe<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Ars Vitaehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06946559693975781054noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2215590145366825677.post-14433174141427845452016-09-29T23:07:00.005+02:002016-09-29T23:09:37.256+02:00In the barbershop<div style="text-align: center;">
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-CwC9T4u2_xo/V-2CJQHau_I/AAAAAAAAHpI/B_WKcTs-9VorYXaX1mj6RximxezCVlo6wCLcB/s1600/Norman%2BRockwell%2BShuffleton%2527s%2BBarbershop%252C%2B1950.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-CwC9T4u2_xo/V-2CJQHau_I/AAAAAAAAHpI/B_WKcTs-9VorYXaX1mj6RximxezCVlo6wCLcB/s1600/Norman%2BRockwell%2BShuffleton%2527s%2BBarbershop%252C%2B1950.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Norman Rockwell: Shuffleton's Barbershop, 1950</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-j_mUBYrBJxY/V-2CYmcDUzI/AAAAAAAAHpM/sRpdsDdz8ykRjtyS9LUiwZ-v0FQIMLKtACLcB/s1600/Norman%2BRockwell%252C%2B1950.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-j_mUBYrBJxY/V-2CYmcDUzI/AAAAAAAAHpM/sRpdsDdz8ykRjtyS9LUiwZ-v0FQIMLKtACLcB/s640/Norman%2BRockwell%252C%2B1950.jpg" width="494" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Norman Rockwell<br />
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Ars Vitaehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06946559693975781054noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2215590145366825677.post-6573696940615041422016-08-29T20:50:00.001+02:002016-08-29T20:50:52.544+02:00Gesto<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vMFgfJFsOtw/V8SDZIs5SoI/AAAAAAAAHoo/ggF6uJzEEKAVlIMF_-5Epq1jSgGSb6FSACLcB/s1600/rosa.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vMFgfJFsOtw/V8SDZIs5SoI/AAAAAAAAHoo/ggF6uJzEEKAVlIMF_-5Epq1jSgGSb6FSACLcB/s1600/rosa.jpg" /></a></div>
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<i>A la brisa, a la abeja, a la hermosa</i></div>
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<i>el rosal puede dedicar la rosa.</i></div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
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<i>Al poeta, al grumete, a la doncella </i></div>
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<i>la noche puede dedicar la estrella. </i></div>
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<i>Si eres tú misma el rosal y las rosas, </i></div>
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<i>la noche de mi verso y sus estrellas, </i></div>
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<i>¿a quién dedicaré este breve cielo, </i></div>
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<i>este arbusto, esta fuente, este desvelo?</i></div>
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<b>Gerardo Diego </b></div>
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-CWVh-vnGj_o/V8SD1Qz8I6I/AAAAAAAAHos/GUSFR0NtR28IZx1odUnAPD6gkel0qkoKwCLcB/s1600/noche.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-CWVh-vnGj_o/V8SD1Qz8I6I/AAAAAAAAHos/GUSFR0NtR28IZx1odUnAPD6gkel0qkoKwCLcB/s1600/noche.jpg" /></a></div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
Ars Vitaehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06946559693975781054noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2215590145366825677.post-19166150786907415352016-08-06T13:43:00.000+02:002016-08-06T13:43:06.076+02:00El mar lejano<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-obJz_gZ-Rf0/V6XNGU0Y5WI/AAAAAAAAHoU/4_1ti_8QO1c3SaI8U_wLRN5uc6Qp8keuQCLcB/s1600/m.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-obJz_gZ-Rf0/V6XNGU0Y5WI/AAAAAAAAHoU/4_1ti_8QO1c3SaI8U_wLRN5uc6Qp8keuQCLcB/s1600/m.jpg" /></a></div>
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<i>La fuente aleja su cantata.</i></div>
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<i>Despiertan todos los caminos...</i></div>
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<i>Mar de la aurora, mar de plata,</i></div>
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<i>¡qué limpio estás entre los pinos!</i></div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
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<i>Viento del Sur, ¿vienes sonoro</i></div>
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<i>de soles? Ciegan los caminos...</i></div>
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<i>Mar de la siesta, mar de oro,</i></div>
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<i>¡qué alegre estás sobre los pinos!</i></div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
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<i>Dice el verdón no sé qué cosa... </i></div>
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<i>Mi alma se va por los caminos... </i></div>
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<i>Mar de la tarde, mar de rosa, </i></div>
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<i>¡qué dulce estás entre los pinos!</i></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>Juan Ramón Jiménez</b></div>
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<b> </b><i> </i></div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-jI6QdIqahHI/V6XNMb5oY8I/AAAAAAAAHoY/u6bguWpsLAIlCZ5GrtcsrrGI1tCXf7caQCLcB/s1600/mar.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-jI6QdIqahHI/V6XNMb5oY8I/AAAAAAAAHoY/u6bguWpsLAIlCZ5GrtcsrrGI1tCXf7caQCLcB/s1600/mar.jpg" /></a></div>
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Ars Vitaehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06946559693975781054noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2215590145366825677.post-87793031059068737662016-07-26T21:19:00.002+02:002016-07-26T21:19:49.519+02:00Julio<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-j6QbWEkCuDw/V5e3bzNMndI/AAAAAAAAHn8/wHlz0mTqMIYn3dVEfB_2Gpdw8uh5TacDQCLcB/s1600/John%2BPhillip%252C%2BR.A.%2BAguadora%2Bde%2BSevilla.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-j6QbWEkCuDw/V5e3bzNMndI/AAAAAAAAHn8/wHlz0mTqMIYn3dVEfB_2Gpdw8uh5TacDQCLcB/s1600/John%2BPhillip%252C%2BR.A.%2BAguadora%2Bde%2BSevilla.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>John Phillip, R.A</b>: <i>Aguadora de Sevilla</i></td></tr>
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<i> </i></div>
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<i>Calle del Betis. Triana. </i></div>
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<i>El corazón del estío </i></div>
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<i>penetra el escalofrío </i></div>
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<i>de la fuente charlatana. </i></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>La Velada de Santa Ana </i></div>
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<i>llena de música el río. </i></div>
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<i>Con los ojos de Rocío </i></div>
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<i>se ilumina la ventana. </i></div>
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<br /></div>
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<i>De envidia, al verla, una estrella, </i></div>
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<i>en las alturas sin fin, </i></div>
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<i>estremecida rutila. </i></div>
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<br /></div>
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<i>Y se apaga cuando ella </i></div>
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<i>sale envuelta en el jardín </i></div>
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<i>de su mantón de Manila.</i></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>Manuel Machado</b></div>
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<b> </b><i> </i></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-cGjDVAeYCtQ/V5e3qcU8R9I/AAAAAAAAHoA/UxomZQXv11wkDzYASm_XgAyRnlYh8qv6gCLcB/s1600/Manuel%2BGarc%25C3%25ADa%2BRodr%25C3%25ADguez%2BPatio%2Bsevillano.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="545" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-cGjDVAeYCtQ/V5e3qcU8R9I/AAAAAAAAHoA/UxomZQXv11wkDzYASm_XgAyRnlYh8qv6gCLcB/s640/Manuel%2BGarc%25C3%25ADa%2BRodr%25C3%25ADguez%2BPatio%2Bsevillano.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Manuel García Rodríguez</b>: <i>Patio sevillano</i></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i> </i></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i> </i></td></tr>
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<i><br /></i></div>
Ars Vitaehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06946559693975781054noreply@blogger.com2